


Plum

by Birdbitch



Category: DCU
Genre: M/M, Pre-Reboot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 18:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6530962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdbitch/pseuds/Birdbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kon leaves his shirt at Tim's apartment, expecting that it'll be washed the next time he shows up. Spoiler: It's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plum

**Author's Note:**

> For Meeya <3

Tim shimmies out of the Red Robin costume and into the shower, where he sits for probably too long watching water run down the grey tiles in rivlets, thinking about what he could have done differently on patrol. Probably not a whole lot--if someone’s bleeding out and the ambulance is getting held up by traffic (and Gotham has maybe not as terrible traffic as Metropolis but still pretty terrific, even when the night seems like it should be winding down), there’s not much anyone can do if they’re not miracle workers. Tim knows for a fact that he’s not one of those. 

But the ambulance came and he’ll be checking in on the shooting victim in the morning. It seemed more important to stay with them than chasing down the bad guys, which, alright, that’s what maybe he’s supposed to do as a vigilante, but there were other people on patrol, cops too, and. Excuses, or whatever. Worst case scenario he just finds the guys tomorrow and prevents another incident. They’re marginally connected to the crime boss that he’s been narrowing in on anyway, and if he can get them to talk, then it’ll be like…

Killing two birds with one stone. He grimaces, scrubs his body wash over his shoulders and down his back, hoping that he wasn’t feeling a big zit right under his shoulder blade. Maybe it’s just a mosquito bite. The less he thinks about it, the better, for both the zit and the almost-fatality. 

When he gets out of the shower and pads back to his bedroom, it’s not a difficult choice to pull on a pair of boxer briefs, but it is one to decide whether or not he wants to slip on the black t-shirt on his bed. The front of it’s emblazoned with Kon’s red shield, left over from the last time Kon spent the night and Tim promised to do laundry. It’s not that he hasn’t been meaning to wash it--he has--but he hasn’t done any laundry anyway, and besides, it kind of smells like Kon.

Not that Tim’s going to admit to Kon (or anyone else, except maybe Cass if she asked, which she won’t) that he’s been wearing the shirt, since he doesn’t exactly want Kon to know that he likes the way he smells. It shouldn’t matter, but it does to Tim. 

He thinks for another second before pulling it over his head and pressing his nose into the collar before inhaling deeply. 

He’s pretty sure that if it were possible to die of embarrassment, he’d be dead on his bedroom floor when he hears a knock at the window. With hesitation, he glances over his shoulder and sees Kon leaning against the glass. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

“Let me in!” It’s a shout so Tim can hear it, and he moves, shoulders hunched like it’s going to help hide the fact that he’s wearing Kon’s shirt. He feels like a twelve year old. It shouldn’t matter. He opens it, and Kon climbs in grins at him. “Hey.” He points at Tim’s chest. “Is that my--?”

“Yes.” 

“Oh.” Kon pauses for a moment, grin settling into something a little softer, like the adrenaline rush of flying from Metropolis is wearing off a little, which isn’t a bad thing. His hand rests on Tim’s shoulder, big and heavy, and Tim feels even smaller than usual. “Cool.”

“I can still wash it,” Tim says, and Kon’s other hand comes up now, rests on Tim’s hip. 

“No, it’s--do you have any of my other shirts hanging around?”

“No.”

“Just this one?” He’s grinning again, leaning closer. “With my shield on it?” 

There’s something going off in Tim’s head telling him that this is a dangerous situation. He ignores the warning and leans in, liking the way Kon’s hands feel on him, liking that the TTK is reaching out to touch him now, too, smoothing the shirt out over his shoulders and along his back. It’s too big--it’s Kon’s, and he’s just bigger--but it’s nice. It smells good. The cotton rips easily, making a terrible costume for their line of work, but it’s a good shirt to sleep in. (Or to, you know, jerk off in, but Tim’s not admitting to anything regarding that.)

“Yeah,” he answers, “with your shield on it.”

“You know, someone may have mentioned that you’ve got a habit of wearing my things.”

It’s no secret that Tim’s costume’s color scheme was directly influenced by Kon’s. He just never thought Kon would have noticed. “Yeah, well, they’d be.” Not wrong. “Mistaken.” Maybe. A little right. “Why’d you come by tonight?”

“Might have been listening out for you.”

“From Metropolis?”

“It’s not that far away. Besides, it’s--good training.” It’s the same excuse he uses whenever Tim calls him out on anything. “You were taking a shower and I guess--”

“You wanted to join?”

“Am I that easy to read?”

He’s less so now than he used to be, Tim thinks. He’s grown up a little, especially since he’s been doing the whole “college” thing, but he’s. Tim has known him. Tim has tried to clone him. It’s not a matter of whether or not Kon’s easy to read, it’s a matter of whether or not Tim has his habits memorized and knows what the feel of Kon slipping in behind him in the shower feels like. “Something like that,” Tim answers.

“I probably didn’t even sneak up on you.”

“You’re the one who’s been focusing on my heart rate.”

“Could have just picked up because it was me.” Kon will let him have it. He puts his own hands on Kon’s chest, waits to be moved. “Anyway. You didn’t wash my shirt, like you promised, and I totally missed getting to shower with you, so what else can I do?”

“They put Wendy the Werewolf Stalker on Netflix,” Tim says, but he’s not being super serious and he hopes that Kon gets it. “And I do have that big TV in my living room--”

“Tim.” It comes out like a whine, and he laughs at Kon. There’s an insistent mouth at his neck, at his jaw, at the corner of his mouth. “You look so good in my shirt and I want to fu--”

“Okay,” Tim answers, because the truth is, he wants to too. It’s been over a week and while it’s not like he has a major sex drive, he’s missed this. There’s something about the warm weather that gets him in a mood. He doesn’t even think about patrol, when he’s like this, and he tugs Kon’s wrist to guide him to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over on tumblr as Sailorbirdie, and I don't usually bite.


End file.
